


You're a Barnacle

by SaraDobieBauer



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Actors, Boys In Love, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Hotel Sex, M/M, Open Marriage, Rutting, Surprises, in budapest, they miss each other so much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 16:46:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18814951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaraDobieBauer/pseuds/SaraDobieBauer
Summary: Armie surprises Timmy in Budapest while filming Dune. Morning hotel fluff ensues.





	You're a Barnacle

**Author's Note:**

> While staying at a hotel this weekend, my husband inspired this silly little ditty after watching the end of the totally weird 70s movie Rollerball. Enjoy xoxo

The king-sized bed melts like butter beneath his back as he taps away at his phone, trolling Instagram in secret. As he often does.

He’s in nothing but boxers, a huge white pillow resting across his stomach as he fiddles away with his phone and Armie watches some weird-looking 80s (70s?) movie with a bunch of middle-aged dudes playing what appears to be roller derby on acid. There’s, like, fire and shit and death and screaming. Timmy ignores it, scrolling through cool interior design ideas for the new apartment he plans to buy in New York … someday. 

He’s perfectly content with his tiny space near Hell’s Kitchen for now. It’s not like he’s ever home anyway. Currently, he’s in Budapest in a swanky hotel with Armie stretched out across the foot of his bed. 

It was a hell of a surprise to find Armie in his hotel room last night. Timmy walked in after a day of filming, and there was Armie, in his unmade bed. (Timmy always leaves the “Do Not Disturb” sign on his door; he doesn’t need new towels every day, okay?)

Armie in sweat pants and a hoodie.

Armie watching SportsCenter, dubbed in Hungarian.

Armie looking up at a shocked Timmy, saying, “Hey, babe.”

And Timmy breaking down in tears, spouting, “What the fuck, man?” before doing a diving leap onto Armie’s lap.

They spent the evening eating pizza, drinking wine, and, well, fucking, because that was what Timmy and Armie always did when they were together—whenever they were blessed enough to be breathing the same air, which seemed rarer and rarer with the filming of _Dune._  

Timmy has never felt further away from home, further away from things familiar. Of course, he is having fun. This is a once in a lifetime experience, but he misses his crappy New York apartment. He misses Armie—but Armie is here.

The violent, wacky movie on TV ends with the crowd chanting. Timmy glances up long enough to see a freeze frame on some guy’s face, and then, the credits roll. He actually _feels_ Armie looking at him, so Timmy glances down at the huge dude at the bottom of his bed.

Armie tries to hide a smile, fails. He reaches his arms up toward Timmy and makes grabby hands. “I want to hump your butt.”

Timmy snorts as Armie scoots up the bed and paws at Timmy’s slim hips. Without waiting for any sort of reply, Armie gets on his knees, manhandles Timmy, and flips him over. 

The pillow, previously on Timmy’s lap, goes flying along with his phone, which lands with a quiet thump on carpet, oh, somewhere. Timmy is too busy giggling to give a shit, especially as Armie continues wrestling all Timmy’s long limbs until he is apparently … “Just right,” Armie whispers.

Timmy laughs, wrapping his arms around another pillow beneath him—because hotels always have too many fucking pillows. He sighs when Armie kisses his lower back before pulling his boxers down and, with zero finesse, ruts his hard cock between Timmy’s ass cheeks.

Timmy is still giggling, Armie’s hands planted on either side of his shoulders. Armie pants and groans, and this will be over in about twenty seconds. Seriously, most of the time, it’s like Armie is the twenty-three-year-old, constantly horny and capable of coming in a minute or less, depending on the circumstance. He’s obviously in a mood this morning. In fact, he’s hardly stopped touching Timmy since he arrived the night before.

Behind and above him, Armie leans back. His dick stops rubbing against Timmy’s skin as he jerks himself to completion. Warm, wet spunk tickles Timmy’s lower back, and he sighs. He’s not even hard, but he likes that he has this affect on Armie—the power to inspire such sudden, needful lust.

Armie kisses his shoulders, huffing breath, and says, “Don’t move.”

“Mmf,” Timmy says in agreement, thinking he could doze off, probably because his REM cycle was interrupted by Armie’s mouth on his dick at 2 AM. One of the top ten blowjobs of Timmy’s life.

Armie returns from the bathroom with a towel and wipes Timmy’s back clean before falling into bed at his side, awkwardly collecting Timmy into his arms. Between the two of them, there are way too many long limbs, but Armie manages to again arrange Timmy until things are “just right,” with Timmy’s face on Armie’s chest and Armie’s hand in Timmy’s hair as he kisses his forehead once, twice, three times.

Timmy yawns. “Miss me much?”

“Fuck off, you know I did. _We_ did.”

“Wish Liz could have come.”

“Oh, she _comes_ all the time thinking about you.”

An open-mouthed giggle escapes without Timmy’s consent. “Jesus, that was terrible.”

Armie kisses his forehead again. “Seriously, this sucks. Being away from you sucks.”

Timmy sighs and circles Armie’s nipple with the tip of his finger. “Yeah, I know.”

There are days when Timmy wishes he lived a more normal life—the kind where he had a normal person job and got to come home every night to the people he loves, his family: Armie, Liz, Harper, and Ford. (And Archie, of course.) He would be happy. Probably. He worries over how much he would miss his job. He loves his job. He loves acting and the red carpets and the fans.

And, God bless it, the money.

Plus, what the fuck else would he do but acting? He’s never been good at anything else. Well, except sex. He’s very good at sex, but he doubts Armie and Liz would want him working as a high-priced escort before coming home to the kids. 

“Christ, stop thinking,” Armie says, giving Timmy’s hair a tug. “Your thoughts are fucking screaming, man.” And because Armie knows him better than anyone in the galaxy, he says, “It’s all right. It sucks that you’re across a stupid ocean right now, but you’re doing what you love, and I'd never let you give that up. Plus, what would you do in LA full time? Be a hooker?” 

He leans up and smacks Armie in the chest. “High-priced escort, you ass!”

Armie smiles that huge, white smile of his. “Yeah, I don’t think so. You’re an actor. We’re actors. We travel, and we’re away from the people we love, but we always come home, right?” He cups Timmy’s cheek, and as usual, Timmy nuzzles against his palm and bathes joyfully in their massive size difference.

“Yes,” Timmy mutters, lost in the haze of Armie’s touch, his scent, his presence. 

His skull thumps uncomfortably against Armie’s collarbone when Armie crushes him into a hug. “Shit, sorry,” Armie says quickly, but Timmy just laughs. 

“You’re acting like a barnacle," he says.

“What the … a _barnacle_?”

Timmy laughs some more. “Yeah, like you’re attached to my skin or something.” 

Armie hugs him tight. “I just love you so fucking much, okay?” 

Timmy swallows the lump in his throat. “Love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come play with me on [Tumblr](http://saradobiebauer.tumblr.com/)! I'm ridiculously in love with Timmy over there.


End file.
